


The Storm Inside

by cmorgana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cuddles, Dirty Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Possible spoilers up to 3x03, Rimming, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6668647">The Little Lines that Write on your Face</a> (it would be better if you read it to understand this one) it started as a PWP sequel, but then turned into something deeper and, basically, the longest sex scene I could imagine of writing, with a lot of angst and...well, a lot of love and cuddles too. </p><p>After what happens in 3x03 and the coda I wrote, Aramis goes to Porthos' room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livia_bj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_bj/gifts).



> No. I won't point out what a mess this will probably be since it's super long and in English. I refuse to, I'm doing my best, I swear, and that's it.  
> It took me a month to write this one, even if in between I wrote other things, and still I'm not sure if I like or hate it so any comment will be appreciated even to say it's rubbish (no, please don't, be careful with my feelings, lol). I'm absolutely not planning another part based on another episode. No, I'm not because I have three other fics waiting to be written. So I'm absolutely not.

Aramis entered Athos' office without knocking. 

Among them they had given up privacy a long time before, he was sure being Captain didn't change things for his friend. Plus the door was unlocked and, sure enough, Athos wasn't the kind of man to take a woman there in the middle of the day. 

Athos looked up for just a second, busy with the scroll he was writing on. 

"I really need to spend a whole day teaching my musketeers how to knock," he commented drily, already distracted by his work again, but before he could go back to concentrate on it Aramis was in front of his desk, hands flat on it. 

"I need to train." He stated, energy still thrumming in his veins, along his spine. 

This time Athos really looked up, work forgotten. It was an unusual request, especially after the day they just had, the tiring and emotionally draining battle they fought. He studied him for a moment, the smudges of dirt and smoke on Aramis' face weren't enough to hide the dark circles under his eyes. 

"You need a long, warm bath and some sleep," he replied in his most paternal tone, suspecting he had spent too much time in Treville's company, but Aramis just shook his head. 

"You don't understand, Athos, if I'll rest now I'll just go mad. I… it's been too long, I still need to learn again how to leave things behind, how to get the...fear…away from my body," he explained, uncertain those were the best words, uncertain Athos would get the true meaning behind them. 

Athos did. In that moment he realized how hard it all must have been for Aramis. Not the battle part itself, that was the thrill he got back for, the true fear of death long gone among soldiers, but what happened to Porthos. He had been kidnapped, almost killed, and all that before he could really forgive Aramis, before Aramis could have told him what he really still felt for him. Aramis had risked everything he loved before he could even have absolution, the only kind he needed, not from God, but from the man he had called a brother and a lover. 

Aramis had said nothing about that all day, had showed nothing, but now it was so obvious Athos wanted to kick himself for not noticing it before. 

For a second he looked down at the documents on his table. Useless bureaucracy. Treville had been there with them, risking his own life like a real musketeer, not a minister, and he was sure damn Fèron was going to destroy that report long before it could make it to the King's hands. He got up, throwing his jacket carelessly on the chair and grabbing his sword. 

"This can wait, let's go down," he accepted with a smile and he could see the relief in Aramis' eyes. 

Not a word was said while they walked down the stairs, Athos still thinking about his mistake in letting his friend's pain go unnoticed, Aramis lost in his own head, in what happened with Porthos just hours before, the words repeating over and over in his mind. 

What was the meaning of those last words, that little laugh? What was expected of him? He had to stay still and wait for Porthos to make the first move? Or he needed to break the ice sheet that still seemed to linger between them?

Athos' sword touched his arm, barely brushing against it, but enough to take him back to the real world. That was alright. Fighting and sweating were alright, something that his body still remembered and his mind had missed too much. He started to get into it, to attack, even if Athos' defense seemed even better than it was four years before. Every clash of sword vibrating through his arm, muscles already sore. 

"You're stiff and distracted, you should go rest," Athos observed, hitting him with the flat of the blade for effect. He was being very careful, his friend already hurt enough for one day. 

"You already told me and I already told you what I need, and it's not a father," Aramis replied, throwing himself at his adversary and effectively shoving him backward. Athos shook his head, then, avoiding a shallow blow, and grabbed him by his shoulder, throwing him against a pillar. 

Aramis flinched, a little moan of pain escaped his lips. He felt the sweaty shirt cling to his skin, the bruises from the battle pulsing, but Athos only tightened the grab on his shirt, not the pressure he was using to pin him.

"Do you really think that this will help you solve things with Porthos?" Athos hissed through his teeth, "You're only hurting yourself and hiding like a coward," but before he could say anything more, Aramis effectively planted a knee in his upper leg, forcing him to take a step back and starting the fight once more. 

From there on, all Aramis could think about were the clanging of the iron, the dull aches in his body and the too soft blows Athos threw at him, irritatingly careful. 

He wouldn't think about Porthos, he couldn't. 

When Sylvie arrived unannounced, interrupting them, his mouth formed jokes, flirts, words that in the past he always let out without even thinking, and that were now back on his lips, thick as bitter honey. 

He automatically walked to the first empty room he could find. A bench and a bucket of water in there, some dirty laundry. Nothing more. But it was quiet, isolated. For the first time that day he was alone. And he didn't know what to make of himself. Those damn words, that sadistic riddle, kept repeating over and over in his mind, confusing him more and more every second that ticked by. 

With a desperate groan he threw his sword against the wall, then his damp shirt. He let himself fall down on the bench, face hidden in his hands. 

He needed to talk to Porthos, for real, in private and without Athos guarding the door in a place crawling with soldiers, he knew that. What he didn't know was what to tell him. Sure enough he couldn't repeat him how sorry he was, it was worth nothing, but he had no justification for choosing himself over their relationship, over him, like he did, so little explanations given. Did the God part even made sense at that point?

A metallic clang forced him to look up. Athos was standing in front of the now closed door, foot playing with the hilt of the abandoned sword, hand on his hip. Aramis grunted. 

"He could have died today," Athos stated, watching Aramis recoil slightly at hearing the words spoken out loud. 

"We all could have," he stated plainly, knowing that wasn't the point, knowing they were talking of another situation, of another mess. 

"Don't bullshit me, Aramis," Athos' tone was now hard, the one he rarely used and generally just to give orders as captain, "I probably realized too late, but I now know what was going on in your head. You chose to come back to us, nothing could have made me happier, but I don't want you here like that," Aramis opened his eyes wider.

"Are you trying to kick me out of the musketeers?" he asked, hurt and slightly scared. He had been away so long he knew things had changed, they all have, he couldn't be sure if Athos was really thinking about that. 

"I'm saying that you're scared and out of control, you don't know when to stop being a soldier, when the day is over. But it's not even that to worry me, is that you're distracted, distant, and we both know it's because of Porthos, but that's something I can't have from one of my men," Aramis shrugged, unable to tell something, once more his sweet words gone. Athos took it as the hint to continue, "What I think you didn't realize is that today Porthos risked his life because he was an hostage, but all of us could be killed at any moment…"

"I won't get distracted to the point to have you killed!" Aramis interrupted him, horrified that Athos could even think something like that, but the other gave a little laugh, shaking his head. 

"I'd never say that. I know you'll always have our backs. I was just saying it's time for you to stop being a coward and go talk to Porthos, for real. I know you already did today, but that wasn't what you both need."

"I don't have the words," Aramis blurted out without even meaning it, a note of desperation in his voice. Athos took a step toward him and gently caressed his hair before he pulled him up and into a hug. 

"That's your mistake, the one both of you are doing. It's you, Aramis and Porthos, you don't need to focus on words to let the other know," Athos sweetly whispered in Aramis' ear, feeling him grabbing his shirt, suddenly exhausted. He kept holding him, feeling the shivers, the tears Aramis was so badly holding and that in the end won, wetting Athos' neck. Neither of them knew, or cared, how long they stayed like that, Aramis finally breaking down after days, probably years, of pain. 

*

Aramis didn't remember that corridor to be so long, dark and distressing. Their lodges long gone because of the prolonged absence, they were all staying at the garrison. Somehow Athos had found them rooms into an unused part of it, where no one ever went. They guaranteed privacy to come and go and, most important, not to be heard whatever their private activities may be. 

He hesitated in front of the door, biting his lip. He raised his hand, but didn't knock, he just could not. What was he going to say to Porthos? More empty apologies? Or maybe, even worse, some pitiful plea for forgiveness? He wasn't supposed to be forgiven, not after leaving his friends, his lover, like that. Sure enough Aramis even gave up on forgiving himself. 

To knock on that sturdy door was the hardest thing he ever did, much harder than to leave everything behind and run, much harder than any battle. He could see only a possible outcome for the conversation he was going to have and it was Porthos kicking him out once and for all. There was no possible alternative. It was all Athos fault, his stupid ideas and his, even more stupid, blind faith in following his friend's advices. 

Porthos took a minute to open the door, unbolting it the exact second Aramis was about to run, his bravery long gone. 

"Oh, it's you," he said in a tone Aramis couldn't interpret. It had been too long, he even forgot how to read his ex-lover. Aramis gulped hard with a tiny nod. 

"Yes, I hope I'm not disturbing you. I can…" he offered, pointing at the corridor behind him, but Porthos shook his head taking a step back in a clear invitation to enter. Without a word he bolted the door again, then he turned toward Aramis. 

"So, what about this visit?" Porthos asked, this time his tone really deliberately too neutral to interpret it, arms crossed over his chest. Aramis nodded and took a deep breath. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about today. Actually I couldn't really think, it was more confusion and panic," Aramis virtually kicked himself for that terrible babbling, he didn't need to tell Porthos that. There had been a time when he had control over his own mouth, not that night, apparently. 

"Aramis, don't." Porthos interrupted, and Aramis looked down. He was being stupid. To go there had really been a bad move, it was obvious that any step toward each other that Porthos was up to make ended in that barrack, at least for the moment. He was pushing and he should have known that pushing was never a good idea. 

"I'm so sorry," he said, flinching at his own words. Wasn't he supposed to stop telling it, empty words and all? Except he wasn't only sorry about leaving Porthos behind, that was an apology for getting there, for causing him even more pain. 

"Really, don't." two words and Aramis almost broke down. He gulped down the tears, he wasn't going to cry in front of Porthos like a kid. That was it, they were done for good because of his mistake. 

"I…I'll go, sorry I bothered you," he muttered, the words so bitter on his tongue he felt like throwing up. He took a step back, without turning, unable to stop watching the man staring at him, the man he still loved so much. He needed to run, he needed to hide. Maybe he even needed to ask Porthos if he wanted him gone for good again. 

But Porthos grabbed his arm, tight. 

"Aramis, for once in your life, just shut up," he asked, ordered, and Aramis automatically obeyed, pressing his lips together. 

"I'm s…" Aramis started, but he stopped, sure he couldn't repeat it again, and a second later Porthos pulled him against his own chest, grabbing his hair just a bit too hard. Aramis fought against himself not to moan and shiver. He knew it probably wasn't about sex, he knew things were going to end badly, but his body didn't seem to care, focused only on Porthos pulling his head back with a determined tug. 

"Right now I couldn't care less about words," Porthos growled, yanking the hair even more to emphasize the concept, "I don't care about anything but you against me," he finished, pulling once more. 

That time Aramis let himself moan in a low tone, the feeling from his head running down his body like an infinite shiver. It wasn't a trick of his mind, it wasn't about pain, Porthos wanted him, from his tone almost as much as he wanted Porthos, and just like that nothing else still mattered. Penances, apologies were no longer of vital importance, just the solid, strong body pressed against him. 

Aramis grabbed Porthos by the face, hands framing the strong features, and kept him still while pressing their mouths together, kissing him as fiercely and desperately as he was sure he never did before. Now that, somehow, he had his Porthos back he needed him more than the air itself, like he was the only thing keeping him alive. 

In a second the other man started to kiss back, off centered, too wet, but it didn't matter to either of them, teeth and tongues clashing like swords in a duel, hands grabbing and pulling while their mouths didn't seem able to slow down or stop. It wasn't like that afternoon, it was something more primordial, a desperate instinct. It was pure sex, released after too many years on a tight leash, bodies recognizing each other after a long time. 

Aramis stopped for a moment, he took a few, quick, breaths, lungs almost burning. 

"Are you sure it's…?" he asked with the little air he still had, but as an answer Porthos shoved him back, against the wall, blocking him with his own body before he started the kiss once more, still messy, lips scratched by rough beards, saliva wetting their skin, hands grabbing and rubbing. 

More than four years of celibacy and now Aramis was receiving the best kiss of his life. His body lightened like a flame on dry grass, like it was even too much, skin prickling under the clothes, hungry for more, for that touch he had been deprived of for so long. He bent a leg, hooking it around Porthos' hip, and moaned loud in the man's mouth when he felt his leg pressing against his groin. He probably wasn't going to last long, but he was going to use everything he had to make that last forever. 

Porthos let a hand slip under Aramis' thigh, keeping it up, hungrily caressing back and forth, reaching to grab his ass every time, grasping it over the soft leather of the pants. He kept pushing his own hips against Aramis' until the man was a moaning mess, unable even to still keep the kiss going, just moaning open mouthed against his lips. With a grin Porthos grabbed his other leg, forcing it up too, around his hip, holding Aramis between his body and the wall, hard bulge pressed against his lover's ass. Without a sound he broke the kiss, drinking in the frustrated grumble Aramis let out at being interrupted, and sure his partner wasn't going to fall, he let him go, working fast to get rid of the shirt before he bent his head to bite on Aramis neck. 

Aramis groaned, head hitting the wall behind him to bare his throat to Porthos rough bites. He felt his own legs starting to shake at the exertion of keeping up like that, but a second later his lover took hold of his waist with an arm, taking his weight off his legs. 

"It's been four years…" Aramis started, immediately stopped by Porthos grabbing his wrists in a big hand and blocking them over their heads, against the wall. 

"Are you saying the famous lover is going to spend just because of that?" Every teasing word was underlined by a hard push of his hips against Aramis' hard cock, by a bite on the soft skin between neck and shoulder. 

Aramis groaned, by now panting hard, totally abandoned at the controlling role Porthos so naturally switched to. He rubbed against him a few more times, dictating his own pace just for the sake of it, before relaxing again against the wood and the body trapping him. 

"I'm just saying it's been four long years, so now it'd be time for you to be on your knees, worshipping my cock," he stated with a wicked smile. Porthos snorted a laugh. 

"You're pinned against a wall and still you dictate orders? You were here to apologize, it's you who should be on his knees," the voice came out a little more strangled than Porthos would have liked. He blamed it on the effort of keeping Aramis up, not the idea of that long, hot cock finally in his mouth again. 

Aramis smirked again at the obvious slip in control. He freed his wrists to lace his arms around Porthos neck and be more free to move his hips, cock against cock, separated only by that stupid leather. Then he started to nib ad Porthos ear, playing with his earring, pulling it with his teeth. 

"I know how hungry you are for me, Porthos. And I know how much you love to tease me about it. I want you to lick and suck, I want to smell myself in your beard for days, to mark you with my scent and to be marked by the rough burn enough that I feel it while riding," Aramis' brain didn't seem to work properly, only focused on the pleasure, on the smell of sex already permeating the air, but somehow it seemed able to form such dirty words. He smiled against Porthos' neck, knowing from the shiver that he had already won that match.

One second and Porthos dropped him, sure the man's reflex were still good enough to make him fall on his feet. He hastily opened Aramis pants, uncaring of tearing off a few buttons, that clinked on the floor while rolling away. It was that sound that made them both notice another kind of clinking, the one of heavy rain hitting the window's glass. Aramis smiled, an autumnal storm, going from calm to tempest in a few minutes, a fury suddenly unleashed. He couldn't think of a better setting for a night like that one. 

When a second later Aramis mind returned to that room, to the fire lashing at his body, Porthos was in front of him, busy with his own clothes. 

"Take off that boots," he ordered in a growl, watching while Aramis obeyed without a word, throwing them on the floor while staring at Porthos finally naked in front of him. 

God, Aramis had missed that sight. He had missed that hot body against him. He grabbed his wrist, pulling Porthos once more against him, just to feel him without the barrier of the clothes. 

That kiss was slower, almost careful, accurate in its search of tastes and textures long gone but never forgotten. Their hands traveled on naked skin, caressing instead of scratching, learning again every curve, every scar, groins pressed together but still, that kind of friction forsaken for a minute. 

Aramis was the first one to break the too intimate kiss. It wasn't just that that he had missed so much, it was the presence of Porthos, of feeling safe and protected and loved. Of never being alone. He had missed the sensation of belonging, of being someone just because the man was near him. The second he realize that he was suddenly sure he was starting to understand why Porthos was so hurt, so angry at him. For a moment he was feeling what Porthos had felt for months, while alone and scared on a battlefield, while watching their friends die and fearing for his closest one. 

Aramis gasped, eyes suddenly wide, body rigid. He was a monster. Nothing could justify imposing on someone else that cold he felt around his heart. He had forced that cold on Porthos for years, instead. He glanced at the door, ready to bolt, to run away, to hide in shame, but before he could even move a muscle Porthos hand was on his cheek, tender than it had since Aramis had came back. 

"Don't freak out, it's alright, I'm here," Porthos calmed him in a soft tone, all the love that bond them for years clearly showing. Aramis felt like running away even more, embarrassment burning hot on his face, but at the same time his body relaxed at that voice, trained by years of comradely and then love. 

"I'm so…" he stopped, forehead pressed against Porthos'. Once more words were betraying him. He took a breath, tried again, but Porthos silenced him with a tiny kiss.

"No. Don't think. We're having sex, I remember something about me on my knees, right?" Aramis nodded, foreheads connected again. If Porthos wanted to ignore what happened, to just have great sex, he had no right to refuse or ruin it. If that was the only thing he could get back from their old relationship he was up to it. Anything to have something of Porthos back. Anything to make amend. For a second the smile on his lips was as fake as the ones, for so long, he gave to older women he seduced for a reason or another, but soon it turned true. He wasn't able to give something false to Porthos and even a forced smile could become real just by looking at him. 

"I remember something about my cock brushing your beard while you lick a lot of other things too…" he teased, back into the mood. His cock had gone flaccid, but it quivered at the absolutely dirty smirk Porthos gave back. 

Porthos gave him another peck on the lips to then go down his profile, reaching his ear, torturing it between his teeth. 

"When I'll be done with you, you won't ride for a week, nor you'll walk. I'll have to come near you to let you smell yourself on my beard. And I'll relish the moment you'll have to explain to Athos why you can't fulfill your duties", another bite on the lobe, and while Aramis was still shivering at the tone of that teasing, Porthos was already on his knees, biting on the thin hipbone. He wanted to cherish the body he had missed for so long, to kiss it over and over, but that wasn't what they needed that night. No, slow, sweet sex would have only served to wake demons they both needed well buried. What they needed, instead, was to release the thrumming they felt under their skin, to fall into great sex before they started to think about rebuilding a real relationship. 

Porthos made sure that Aramis hips were pinned between his hands and the wall, with as little movement allowed as possible, and just then his mouth traveled down to the crease of his groin. He slapped Aramis' thigh, hard enough to leave a pink handprint, to make him open his legs more, licking the mark a second later. 

His teeth scratched a path toward the inner part of the leg, going up to nuzzle at Aramis balls, hard cock pressed against his rough cheek. He tantalized him, rubbing the beard against the head, Aramis' fists tight on his hair, desperately trying to obtain more, to force him into something Porthos still wasn't inclined to give. For long minutes Porthos tongue traveled along every fold, every crevice he could reach, sucking at the base of the hard cock from time to time, but granting no more than that. Just when Aramis moans turned into desperate whimpers he gave up. Beard smeared with precome, he went straight to the point, sucking on Aramis, licking just under the head before taking him fully into his mouth, fingers tight around the base, not trusting Aramis' self control at that point. He continued for a while, using all the dirtiest tricks that Aramis himself had taught him over the years, licking and sucking, following imaginary paths down his cock to where he could only feel the beginning of Aramis crack, forcing the man's leg on his shoulder to get better access to it before slowly going back to the neglected cock. 

Aramis hands tightened in his hair, the roaring of a thunder just barely covering his groan. 

"Stop. Stop now…I… stop…too close…" he blurted, trying to catch his breath, his unfocused eyes just barely saw Porthos dirty smirk while he got up. 

"Bend over the table, grab the other side and spread your legs," Porthos ordered, short and hard, hiding his own almost painful arousal, and when he took a step back, breaking all body contact with Aramis, for a second Aramis was sure he was going to fall, unable to stand on his own trembling legs. 

Four years. Aramis wasn't even sure how he had taken chastity for so long but, even more confusing, he had no idea how he was taking all that teasing without losing control. Porthos mouth was heaven, but somehow he had managed not to spill into it. In the short space between the wall and the table he mentally complimented himself, but, before he could linger more on those thoughts, Porthos had a hand on his back, shoving him down and keeping him from getting up, and by the breath on his thigh Aramis was sure he was once more kneeling. 

Without a word, without a warning, Aramis felt the strong hands grabbing his cheeks, separating them, and the warm blow of Porthos' breath hit his most intimate place. 

"I missed that so much…" Porthos low murmur was almost drowned by the sound of another thunder, the rain hitting harder and harder against the thin glass of the window. But Aramis couldn't care less for half heard words, because a second later the flat of Porthos' tongue was lashing his crease, slowly, from a quick suck to his tense ball, up to kiss his lower back, just to then start again. 

"Porthos, please…" Aramis begged without shame, body tense as a string, cock occasionally rubbing against the hard wood, painfully so, but it was a contact nonetheless and as such enough to him. 

But Porthos didn't reply, he just focused the flat of his tongue on the small hole, so tight and tense compared to the last time he had done something like that, licking it over and over, to taste it, to breath in Aramis musk, relearning the whimpers and little shakes of the body under his. Just when he felt Aramis really shake under him and his hole get another kind of tense, he started to slowly rim it, pushing his tongue in it a bit at the time, getting out every time to lick more at it. 

Another thunder, Aramis flinched, but at the same time reached out, feeling for Porthos and barely brushing his hair. 

"Too much," he almost cried, without even knowing what he meant. It was too much not to come, too much teasing. Still it wasn't enough. He needed more and he also, definitely, needed more control. Porthos snickered against him, tongue still deep in his body, and the vibration had Aramis shudder. As a reply one of Porthos' hand grabbed the base of his cock, tightening until he was sure it would have been at least difficult for Aramis to come. At the same time, though, he caressed the wet tip with his thumb. 

"What do you need, Aramis?" Porthos asked making his name extra dirty by whispering it against his hole, then kissing it open mouthed. 

Aramis pressed his forehead against the rough wood, eyes forcefully shut. He tried to focus on the noise of the storm hitting Paris, on the burning pulse of the fingers clasped around his cock. But nothing was enough to calm down his breath, to give him some control back. 

"Fuck me. Now. Please, please, please," he begged, ashamed at the idea that he was praying for that with more passion than he ever used in four years as a man of God. 

Porthos ignored him for a few more minutes, lapping, sucking, fucking him with his tongue over and over, while watching Aramis trash on the table, moans now louder than the thunders that were shaking the glasses, cock twitching in his hand, dripping with desperate need. He kept going, waiting, searching for that particular breath he could never forget, the high pitch noise while taking air in, that always let him know that it really was too much for Aramis. When he heard it, the sign that Aramis was really too far gone, so desperate that to continue would have been torture, he stopped, leaning his cheek on Aramis' ass while reaching for the oil in the chest, grateful the room was so tiny. A second later his glistening fingers were slowly teasing the still wet hole.

Aramis slowly regained his breath. He felt his head light, like after a lot of wine, but his body was thrumming with energy and his lungs felt too heavy to properly work. It had been a while, well since leaving, that he hadn't felt like that during sex. 

He gasped at the cold, slick, fingers at his entrance, teasing but not pushing. His body had relaxed and then had tensed again during Porthos infinite teasing, but he didn't care. He missed sex too much, he especially missed sex with Porthos too much, to want to lose more time. 

Aramis quickly grabbed Porthos wrist, stilling his movements. 

"Not your fingers, I need you," his voice was still rough but he had regained enough breath to get the words out, to make them heard over the storm getting worse and worse. 

Porthos hesitated. He knew that part was just to make it easier but was not essential, still it had been so long for Aramis he wasn't sure it was a good idea to just go for it. He shook his hand free, going back to caressing his hole, still without pushing his fingers inside, thinking about it, assessing Aramis reactions. 

Aramis body was thrumming with need, muscles so tense he was shaking, teeth biting on his own wrist to keep from screaming. Just that light touch was driving him crazy, his body already too sensitive. By some miracle he had managed not to come up until that moment, still it didn't mean his body wasn't strongly reacting to be touched after four years without any kind of intimacy. He felt like he was going crazy, like keeping control was starting to physically hurt. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes, they slid on his cheeks until their path was stopped by his lips. Aramis drank on them, tasting the salt. 

With a sigh Porthos got up, leaning over Aramis body, pulling his head back by the hair, to talk in his ear. 

"I can see how desperate you are. I'm going to take you so hard you'll cry for me, I'm going to make up for all the time we lost, but I need you to stop me if it really is too much," he ended the sentence in a menacing tone, well knowing that probably Aramis wasn't going to stop him for any reason, but needing to know if he was hurting him. He wanted passion, he even wanted to punish him a little, but that didn't mean he wanted to really hurt him during sex. No, that would have been too cruel. Sex was for lovers, not for vendetta. 

Without another word, cock slicked with too much oil, Porthos started to push in, one hand grabbing his own cock, the other wrapped on the back of Aramis' neck in a reassuring gesture. 

Aramis gulped and bit on his lip. It hurt, tears were prickling his eyes even more and every breath felt like a stab in his back, but he'd have given anything for it to never stop. He could feel Porthos slip inside inch by inch, hard, hot. It was too big, his body burned for the stretch, but it was…intimate, close. It was like being really connected for the first time since he got back. Sure, Aramis was no fool, he knew even too well the difference between sex and closeness, but he also knew it could never be just sex with Porthos, there was too much between them.  
It seemed like a lifetime before Porthos finally bottomed up and stopped, giving Aramis the time to adjust to the "too much, too soon" he had chosen. 

Porthos slid his hand in the damp curls, slipping them through the sweaty hair, gently scratching the scalp of the man panting under him, shivering while holding the table for dear life. When he moved slightly Aramis groaned.

"Are you okay?" Porthos asked, ready to stop right at that moment. He could just imagine how intense it must have been for Aramis since it was almost too much even for him, the firm grip around his cock slowly driving him to madness.

"Hurts," Aramis replied, voice strained, "please, move", not an order, another beg, softer this time, less desperate or maybe just more tired. Porthos obeyed. 

It really hurt. The slow slid felt like his muscles were on fire, like his skin was about to rip, and still a faint note of pleasure hid among that. Aramis wasn't sure if it was just mental pleasure, the idea of what they were doing, or real, physical, one. Another trust in, still slow, still seeming more like lovemaking than sex, and his body started to relax, to adjust to the feeling that had once being so used to. The length, the width, even the weight familiar to his muscles memory even after all those years. At the third trust he moaned in something resembling pleasure, his cock half hard again. 

Porthos gently kissed his nape, his shoulder. He bit on it, to then lick away the sting. 

"Better?" he asked already knowing the answer. Aramis was once more writhing under him, soft groans and moans filling the air, barely audible over the storm, but louder than anything else to Porthos' ears.

"Yes, don't stop, I don't want to forget, don't want to lose it, ever again", Aramis babbled out without even thinking, he shut his mouth a second later, eyes suddenly open at the realization of how much he could have revealed with that single sentence and, even worse, of how much he could have asked of someone who barely wanted him for a good fuck. But Porthos didn't change his pace nor ran away so, probably, he didn't even heard. Aramis took a deep breath while the rhythm got faster and faster. 

When only the noise of their skin and their moans were filling the room, Porthos bent on him once more. That time the bite was harsh on his shoulder, but Aramis didn't care, he was far too lost in the restless shoves inside him, in his cock rubbing against the table, almost painfully, over and over. 

"I want to see your face while I make you come," was the only whisper he got before Porthos left his body. Aramis hissed, but the sound was interrupted by Porthos forcing him on his back. He bent his legs up and down towards Aramis face, caressing the stretched hole with the pad of his thumb.

"So beautiful, stretched and wet for me. Did you miss this, Aramis? Did you miss being fucked like that?" - Did you miss to be mine? - 

"I did. Porthos…" Aramis moaned, bending even more, exposing his body shamelessly, answering the question Porthos never said out loud. 

Barely holding a tiny smile Porthos slipped in again, using the new position to go deeper inside Aramis, this time playing with his body, with the leaking and flushed cock twitching in his hand every time he teased the slit with his thumb. He started to trust in again, deeper but slower, watching Aramis' closed eyes, wet lips red from biting on them, smiling at the little whimpers he got every time he barely brushed Aramis' most sensitive spot, without really hitting it. 

Aramis relaxed, tried to let himself go. Now that the initial burning was over, that all he can feel and hear and smell was Porthos, that even the violent thunders seemed to be nothing more than a low buzz, compared to his lover's sweet, harsh, breath, he really needed nothing more than to enjoy something that he'd been denied for too long. So stupid. So blind. Sex wasn't what he cared about, sex hadn't been what he missed deep down while at the monastery, but the intimate link of sex had been, how two connected body, like theirs, also meant that their souls were somehow touching. The absence of that as terrible as air being squeezed out of his lungs. Except he hadn't realized it until it was too late. But at the moment it didn't matter. He had it back, he had Porthos back, even if only for a while, and he was intentioned on making that last as longer as possible. 

He slowly forced his eyes open, to look at Porthos laying over him, at the tiny drops of sweat on his forehead and neck. Aramis searched for his eyes, holding his gaze, and a moan of despair left his mouth.

"I missed you so much…" he said, not meaning sex, not even slightly. But before he could read the reaction on Porthos' face he put his arms around the man's neck, holding him, hiding himself while tasting the salty sweat, licking it away, convincing himself it was just that, it was not mixed with his own tears. He smelled Porthos, his scent not even barely covered by his own.

Porthos slowed down for a moment, uncertain on what to do, what to say, probably what to think. He was scared and confused by all that he was feeling that night, by Aramis' reactions. Still he didn't want to think about it, about something so much bigger than his brain could elaborate while his dick was root deep into the most beautiful man he's ever seen. He turned, kissing Aramis neck, nose buried in his now damp curls, a sweet gesture, careful, but he soon balanced it by lifting Aramis up, raising him from the table. 

Out of instinct Aramis legs grasped Porthos' waist, his arms didn't let go of the neck, the cock in him even deeper, if possible. He moaned, a long moan taking all the time of the few steps dividing them from the wall. His naked back collided with the rough wood, but Aramis couldn't care less about the sting, not pinned like that, not with Porthos using his own weight to fuck him on his cock. Aramis reached up, toward one of the beams, grabbing and holding it for dear life, using it to help Porthos to thrust into him, cock trapped between their bodies, rubbing against Porthos stomach over and over. And then Porthos started to hit his sweet spot at every thrust, taking away from him the ability to do anything more than moan and scream, head thrown back, throat almost too tight. Aramis was sure he was going to pass out, his cock still untouched but continuously stimulated by Porthos body. He felt hot pleasure coil down in him, burning as a flame, and then suddenly starting to uncoil at every forceful hit straight to his prostate. Nails scraped the wood, teeth bit a lip until it bled and when Porthos trusted inside once more Aramis felt the flames release. His body went rigid, cock almost hurting while spending on Porthos chest, his moan turned into a scream that the glass-shattering thunder could barely contain inside the room. 

The orgasm seemed to last hours and less than a second at the same time, every part of his body alight by a feeling long forgotten, every hair standing out, but simultaneously he let himself relax, muscles suddenly useless and trembling. Aramis closed his eyes, drinking in the almost painful "too much" of Porthos still fucking him, arms now back around his neck, breathing in their scents now blended, leaving all the work to his lover, head so light he felt like passing out. His heart drummed in his chest, the same rhythm of Porthos', who got more desperate at every shallow thrust. He felt him go faster, harder, his back hitting the wall over and over, and even after all that time he could tell the man was close. By his breath, by the frown on his face, by the tightened grip on his skin. 

"Come on, Porthos. Let go. I'm here, mark me, show me who's the only one who can have me," Aramis repeated, voice rough and low, but it didn't matter since the words were whispered against Porthos' ear, hands clutching at his black curls. 

The words triggered Porthos' orgasm. He shoved Aramis against the wall one more time, pressing against him hard enough that both their hips hurt, and came deep inside him, moaning words that made no sense but that sent a shiver down Aramis' spine anyway. With the last of his force, in silence, he carried Aramis to the bed, letting him go carelessly before he fell down, face first, near him, both too exhausted to care about anything.

*

The room was freezing cold. The fire long gone, the window slammed open by the wind, icy water on the floor. Still that wasn't what made Aramis shiver. He had never left Porthos bed like that before, not even the firsts times, when they used to tell themselves they were just having friendly, casual sex. He had always stayed, slept in his arms. But now he had lost that right. Now he was naked in front of a basin of cold water, the man softly snoring behind him, uncaring that he was leaving. He knew he didn't deserve Porthos care, still that didn't make the blow softer. 

Aramis started to wash himself, hissing when the freezing water touched his cock, running it, with his fingers, over scrapes and bruises. Those were what he had asked for, what he had hoped for, but now he was no longer sure he still wanted them. They were a too painful memorandum of what he had for just one more time before losing it again. Every motion, for days, was going to remind him of that night, one that, maybe, Porthos was going to regret even too soon. He hit the water with his flat palm, looking at the ripples on the surface, at the drops flying around on the floor: he felt like crying. 

"Aramis?" lost in his thought he hadn't notice the soft snoring had stopped. He gulped without turning, throat so tight he was sure he was going to throw up.

"I'm… I was just cleaning myself, we made a bit of a mess, I fear," he turned, a half smile on his lips. He didn't even wonder if Porthos was going to believe it, well knowing that people always believe what they want to see, "just a minute and I'll be gone, don't worry," he added, grabbing his small clothes from the floor. He wasn't going to cry, not while he was still there. He wasn't going to base anything over pity. He didn't need nor deserved Porthos' pity. He tried to put the clothes on, hissing at the movement, "as I said…not as trained as I was, I fear," he joked, forcing his smile even wider, but he had to turn for a moment, to lean with his hands on the rough table. His body hurt, more than he remembered possible, but his real problem were his feelings, the need to cry and beg and delete four years of his life and a vow to God. 

"Aramis," Porthos repeated again, and he nodded.

"Just a second…" he replied. It had been a mistake. A giant one. How could he have been so stupid to believe he was going to get out not shattered by a night of sex with Porthos?

"Aramis," his name once more, in a tired tone, but with a note of something different, something…"it's freezing, come back to bed," Porthos finished with a sigh before Aramis could identify what else was in his voice. Aramis furrowed his brow.

"I thought I was supposed to leave," he answered, hands still on the table. He couldn't risk to misunderstand, not after that, not now. Porthos nodded. 

"I thought it too, but…it feels like you already did enough leaving and you look more heartbroken than me at the idea. Plus you're freezing and shaking like a leaf, I know too well how much you hate the cold. Come back to bed." Aramis hesitated, confused. Everything in him wanted to run back to that warm bed, to Porthos embrace, but at the same time he knew how much more painful was then going to be to be forced to leave it for good. 

"I think…" But Porthos interrupted him with a shake of his head.

"You don't get to think tonight. We don't get to. Not after what we have done, not after that terrible day. You only get to come back to my bed and forget about any fear and pain," Aramis looked at him. He knew. He obviously did, anyone probably knew about his fear when Porthos was kept hostage, and the man knew pretty well how important he still was for Aramis. Still he was sure that night hadn't been about pity, reassuring sex. That never happened, not even when they were a real couple. Porthos respected him a lot more than that. 

With shaking legs Aramis crossed the short distance to the bed, biting on his lip nervously while looking down to the man still waiting for him. With a deep breath he got in, precariously leaning on the side. 

"Since when are you cuddle shy?" Porthos asked. It was a plain question, with an obvious hint of teasing but not thought to make things easier, because there was nothing to make easier. 

"I didn't know if you wanted to hold me," the voice was small and uncertain, deeply different by what Aramis usually used in his life. They both could remember just a few occasions when Aramis turned into that. Three of them were happy ones, one was a fight. The last… was the final time they talked before Aramis ran away. 

"Isn't it what I did for the better part of my life, to warm you when you're cold?" - to hold you when you're so scared you can't breath but unable to admit it? - Porthos said like it was the most natural thing and Aramis nodded, shifting to get closer and turning to let Porthos hug him from behind. He gulped down tears he couldn't even identify by that point, and suddenly he felt Porthos' hand in his hair, carding them gently, rubbing at his scalp. He nodded a thanks, the only thing he still remember how to do. 

"It's okay, I've got you, just relax, let your body and mind rest," Porthos started whispering nonsense in his hear. He knew what worked with Aramis. He perfectly knew which buttons were to push to obtain a reaction. He had always knew, probably since the first day they met. A young man out of the guts and a musketeer almost too traumatized to speak. 

It took some time before Aramis completely relaxed in the embrace, shifting closer and closer against the warm body of his lover, almost under it, shamelessly hiding his freezing feet between Porthos' warm ankles. When he was well settled he started a few times to tell how scared he had been, but always aborted the thing. Porthos knew. Porthos knew about being scared for his life, about his being scared one of them was going to die before forgiveness was given. Porthos knew and, probably, had felt the same. 

"Does it mean you're taking me back?" the sentence broke the silence, even the rain had shut down. Aramis knew it was too much to ask, too forward, but by now his mouth seemed to work on its own accord, mind and body too tired from everything that went on in the past hours. 

"No," at the sure tone in Porthos voice Aramis stilled, but the man caressed his back in a reassuring way, "I'm sorry, but it's too soon, I still can't," he sweetly kissed Aramis naked shoulder, "I need more time," he then sentenced, serious. 

"So, what's that? Casual sex with a very frustrated friend? A way to keep me from bothering you?" Aramis tone wasn't really angry, more tired, resigned. Porthos shook his head, lips dragged back and forth on the warm skin.

"You know all too well I wouldn't use sex. It's… it was a way to tell you that you still are mine, you'll always be, but I need more time to understand, to forgive, to see how we'll be together now that we're so different from four years ago. Are you up to give me this time, possibly without destroying yourself in the meantime, Aramis?" Porthos asked seriously, finger tracing one of the small wounds from the past days' battles. Aramis took a few seconds. He didn't really need to think about it. He was up to do anything, to give Porthos anything, to get him back. Time was the less of it, especially when he was in his arms like that. 

"I'll give you all the time you need, if it means you'll call me yours again," he hid his face in the pillow at his own sappy answer, Porthos snickering behind him. Aramis was grateful the man couldn't see how hard he was blushing, suddenly turned into a sentimental maiden, "what, thought while we wait?" he made a vague gesture toward the room, indicating everything that passed between them, encompassing a lot more than just the sex. 

"As I said, I'm not going to deny, to either of us, the knowledge you're still mine, I'd be a fool to deny there's something between us, something that not even all the hurt could destroy. So I guess that's… alright. Occasionally. Just… I'd be glad if…with other people…" Porthos interrupted himself, unsure of how to go on. He couldn't ask what he was about to ask, not after telling Aramis they weren't going back together, not at the moment. Still he felt the need to say it. 

Aramis saved him the embarrass by laughing at the words. 

"Not that my body isn't interested but… as you said, we're different now, I changed, a lot, and I promise I won't sleep with anyone but you, even if it will take you years to decide if you want to take me back or not", it was a promise, a solemn one and a sign that there was still a lot both of them had to find out about the new other. Aramis was really no longer interested in anyone else, in casual sex, in seduction for the sake of it. It hadn't been the monastery or the celibacy part to change him, it had been the realization of how different things are when you're in love, when you can feel loved even during the most harsh, dirty, sex. 

Porthos nodded, lips still against his skin. 

"And I promise nothing will ever make me kick you out of my bed and into a cold room," Porthos almost playful sentence was deeper than any of them could state, the double meaning of it almost as warming as the strong body that engulfed Aramis even more. 

Aramis took a deep breath, the dark hand resting on his chest almost helping him to let it out, and closed his eyes. He was still confused and scared, but his body was fulfilled and his mind didn't seem able to focus on something bad while feeling so protected and at peace. He started to count all the contact point he had with the body behind him, realizing there was nothing of them that wasn't touching. He focused on Porthos' breath, so normal and yet so different from anyone else's and he didn't even realize he was using it as a lullaby, his favorite one.


End file.
